


Control Method: Breathing in the Dark (an excerpt)

by PhoenixDragon



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Dark, Introspection, Light BDSM, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Slash, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-10
Updated: 2014-01-10
Packaged: 2018-01-08 06:29:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1129405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhoenixDragon/pseuds/PhoenixDragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>The price he paid was silence. He never dared to ask what price the Doctor paid.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Control Method: Breathing in the Dark (an excerpt)

Rory could feel the Doctor moving around even as the darkness was so complete he had no sense of space or stability: the only thing real and solid being the chair under his body and the floor at the tips of his toes. The noise from the Time Lord was deliberate, a way for Rory to anchor himself, even as it kept him nervous and off-balance. He could feel every sense straining for stability, even as his fear turned to a sour excitement. This was unexpected, this was new – and he had faith the Doctor would not let him misstep.

There had been nothing really said when he had arrived less than ten minutes before. The Doctor had acknowledged him with a dip of his head, a small gesture from the alien’s fingers enough to have Rory hastily removing clothing. He had gotten down to his trousers when the Doctor had held up a hand, halting him before he could even get the first button undone. He had stopped all movement without a thought, that odd relief sweeping through his chest, tingling under his skin.

The Doctor had all control here, Rory was an automaton – his will, the constant churn of his mind, the rigid control he had molded himself to falling away. The Doctor was his will, the Doctor was his control – the Doctor was the spinning gnash of his thoughts. All he had to do was give himself over, let the Doctor undo him, spill him open. In return he was taken to the greatest heights of pleasure and back down. The price he paid was silence. He never dared to ask what price the Doctor paid. But he knew (and it tore at him), he knew and he was grateful the Doctor considered him even remotely worth it.

Then he remembered that in the end…he wasn’t the one the Doctor was seeing. The Doctor paid two prices. Rory happened to be one of them.

He reminded himself of this as the Doctor indicated he be seated in the Chair, his silence unnerving, but soothing all at once. Everything in this room was a contradiction, everything clashed and warred and soothed and calmed. He sat down and let it all drain away, the opposing forces that brought him here again and again washing over him and pulling away everything but the basest Rory he could be.

Even if the Doctor wasn’t looking for Rory in the Chair, he would happily be whoever the Doctor needed. The Time Lord claimed he did this for him, but Rory knew that was only half-true. He never let that knowing be seen, as it brought a sadness to the Doctor’s eyes he couldn’t stand. So he tried to let the knowledge drain away with his control, his thoughts – the last thing swimming through his mind was that futile hope that one day, the Doctor would look at this Chair and see him, see Rory…not whomever had made him agree to do this.

Because it wasn’t him. It couldn’t be him. Rory just had to remember that, keep it in his mind – even as he kept it out of his surface thoughts. Even as he kept everything here secret. Even as he kept silent. It was easier to be silent when you were doing it for someone else – and in many ways, he was: he was keeping quiet not just for himself or the Doctor, but that unknown person that was sitting here in the Doctor’s mind. He knew it ate at him – the guilt, the surety that he was using Rory – so Rory remained vigilant, silent even against the Doctor himself.

That was a whole different method of control.

He could only hope he was making the Doctor proud.

Rory lived for that.

He made sure he was settled in the Chair, comfortable as he waited for his next cue – but it had never come. The Doctor hadn’t even given the usual starting speech before the room was plunged into total blackness. His heart had leaped in his chest, the old primal panic clawing at him for one shameful moment before he remembered –

The Doctor had him well in hand.

The Doctor would keep him safe.

The Doctor was the only thing that existed besides himself and his Chair.

So he relaxed, every muscle slowly loosening, every nerve quieting. He breathed in the dark and didn’t even jump when he heard the first squeak of the Doctor’s boots against the floor. The floor that he barely recognized as there, even as it pressed coolly against the tips of his toes. He could feel only the Chair, the weight of the Doctor’s gaze (even through the darkness) and the thud of his heart under the tight cinch of his skin.

Every now and again as the seconds stretched to minutes, he could feel his body betray him – a muscle twitch, a nerve singing in panic, his skin trying to desperately register anything but the black. He forced himself to sink into the absence of light, to not expect, to not _wait_. It was difficult (especially with the deliberate sounds the Doctor would make at random intervals), but he finally managed to do so – sinking into his mind until even the darkness registered only in a smooth, dreamy way. Even the excitement, the nervousness had faded to a dull thump against his bones.

The Doctor was watching.

_The fiery touch of his eyes like a hand against his flesh…_

The Doctor would take care of him. He always did. There was nothing to fear here – never. The only thing to be afraid of was slipping into the delusion that the Doctor wanted him.

Why else shut off the light, except to blur Rory into indistinction?

But even this idea bothered him not one bit. Instead he was proud he could give the Doctor reason and purpose to be here. Rory went into this knowing the Doctor was granting him a kindness, giving him control by taking away any control at all. But he had to have his own reasons for doing so, besides just Rory’s pleasure and need. He may not even realize it himself yet – but Rory was giving him something as well, even if it was not just Rory Williams from Leadsworth.

_I want to make you proud. I want to make you as excited as I am. I want to be something you can love – even if it is not me._

A flash in the blackness – the flare of inner light against the gray-green halo of the Doctor’s eyes, before it was gone again. Rory muted his gasp, almost feeling the Time Lord’s chuckle hum under his skin. He had been so, so _close_ – if he had breathed Rory would have been able to taste it.

But even then, fear had never entered his mind.

The Doctor finally spoke, his voice coming from somewhere behind the Chair, though Rory couldn’t gauge how close or how far. He smothered the instinctive jolt of wrongness in that and just focused on the caress of the Doctor’s voice – thick and smoky with arousal – even as he never _seemed_ aroused during their sessions. It didn’t stop the primal reaction to that voice, though – the Doctor’s words wrapped in audial honey, slip-sliding over Rory’s senses to tingle along his nerves.

“As I’m sure you can already… _see_ , this will not be a standard session, Rory,” the Doctor murmured from the darkness. His voice slid and ricocheted within the black, leaving Rory unsure of where he was standing by the time he was finished speaking – the sense of disorientation overwhelming for a moment before he was steadied by another wave of syllables threaded in silk, the Doctor’s words almost more solid than the Chair Rory was seated in. “It will be conducted completely in the dark – but as to standard rules, I will not touch you in any way, even by request. I will speak, suggest and prompt, but I will not touch you unless there is an absolute emergency, which will automatically end the session. That being said, you can stop this at any time. Just give me the signal and it will end, no questions asked. Are these terms acceptable?”

“Yes, Doctor,” Rory replied, surprised out how steady and calm his voice was – and how he wouldn’t be able to pinpoint his own vocals if they weren’t issuing from his throat. It was a vaguely unnerving sensation, but manageable. “I fully understand and accept the terms.”

There was a pause and Rory could almost sense movement to his immediate left – but another sharp movement to his right and just behind him left him dizzy and unsure. He forced himself to stop focusing on his surroundings and just focus on the Doctor’s voice instead, let the Time Lord guide him. That idea left him dizzy all over again, but with a tingling burst of pleasure in place of any inner vertigo – his anticipation of the next hour or _hours_ already making his flesh too hot and tight against the cradle of the Chair.

And he was already loving every second.

“Very well,” the Doctor hummed, that smoky, rich taste of his tone leaving Rory’s heart pounding high and hard against the thin cage of his chest. “I ask you once, Rory…do you want to stop – or shall we continue?”

Rory shifted in the Chair, the muted creak of it beneath him almost startling him – too loud and fixed in the darkness – more like a gun going off than a Chair moving under his weight. He stilled himself and breathed through the shock of the noise, focusing on getting his part ready. The game was almost about to begin. It wouldn’t do to miss the opening.

“I do not wish to stop,” Rory said steadily, again surprised by how sure and strong his voice sounded. “I would like to continue.”

“Very well,” the Doctor said firmly, the sensation an almost vocal equivalent of a handshake. Rory was becoming more and more aware that the only thing really difference to this meeting was the darkness surrounding them. Other than that, it seemed a pretty routine session…

Except for the small fact that he was feeling so much _more_. He was hearing and noticing things he had never been able to before. The darkness hindered his sight, played havoc with his other senses because of it – but at the same time, it opened up a whole realm to those senses that had gone completely unnoticed until now. He had been blindfolded before, had his sight muffled, but the _purity_ of this made a blindfold seem puerile and limiting in its own right.

This…this was _feeling_.

He did his damnedest to breathe through the tempest of sensations this realization elicited, everything stretching thin and sharp under the weight of the darkness; his own mind too bright for him to handle before he got a grip on reality, a grip on the signals being bounced around his skull.

The Doctor must have sensed (or even expected) this reaction because he was quiet, letting Rory sort through the foreign feelings and thoughts that rose on the heels of this input, inner weight shifting to find balance once more. It took a moment longer than he would have liked, but eventually Rory found his equilibrium, his mind compensating for the overload by smothering itself silent for a beat or two, letting him adjust. Bit by bit, his heart returned to normal rhythm, his breathing slowed, evening out – his flesh settling against itself as it accepted the dark and the feelings, sensations and imbalances that went with it.

“What do you wish from me, Rory?” The Doctor finally whispered, breathless and sorrowful in the warm heaviness of the dark. “What do you need from me?”

Rory’s heart lurched as he noticed the tone that had always woven through the words, but until now had gone unnoticed, if not ignored. It was a sweet tone, as sweet and beautiful as ever – but the longing that lay beneath made him suck in a sharp breath before answering, almost half desperate that the Doctor would not see the hesitation and mistake it for anything other than his normal response.

_I wish I could be what you long for…_  


**Author's Note:**

>  **Warnings:** Introspection, Character Speculation, Angst, Dark!Fic, Slash, Mild BDSM themes, UST, Sexual Situations  
>  **A/N:** Written for [](http://lonewytch.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://lonewytch.livejournal.com/)**lonewytch**. My Fic-Wife loved ' _Blue Morning_ ' and wanted a flip-side scenario, taking the broad idea posed in that fiction and turning it around, though in a gentler way (or maybe not, that's how it just turned out *eep). ' _Control Method_ ' IS that fiction. As with ' _Blue Morning_ ', this is only a tiny piece of a bigger fiction. And it is WAY older than it looks (sorry). Just wanted to post **something** while I tinker with other fictions. And well...if it is enjoyed, I feel I have accomplished _something_ (even as I may not be sure what that 'something' is *grins). I don't believe I've posted this piece before, but if I have, well...at least this is a more 'offical' posting. As always, mostly unbeta'd and written in one go, so please forgive any mistakes and/or blatant vagueness. I apologize for any repetition, misspellings, sentence fails, grammatical oh-noes and general horridness. Unbeta'd fic is overly-thinky/blithery and unbeta'd.  
>  **Disclaimer(s): _I do not own the scrumptious Doctor or his lovely companions. That honor goes to the BBC and (for now) the fantastic S. Moffat. The only thing that belongs to me is this fiction - and I am making no profit. Only playing about!_**


End file.
